Pretend
by buntesLicht
Summary: She knew that he only used her for his goals but she liked to pretend that he could love her. And perhaps, she thought, he liked to pretend too. / (?) Vincent x Ada


I don't own Pandora Hearts. (duh)**  
**

**Pretend**

Summary: _She knew that he only used her for his goals, but she liked to pretend that he could love her. And perhaps, she thought, he liked to pretend too. / onesided (?) Ada x Vincent_

~x~

* * *

Ada Vessalius, against the strong believe of some, was not stupid. Optimistic, inclined to see the best in everyone and dreaming of her personal happy end…well, maybe, yes.

But that didn't make her stupid, did it?

"I'm very sorry about contacting you on such a short notice."

Her eyes flew away from the window of the carriage and darted to his face, meeting his gold-red gaze. She saw through the fake sincerity, the façade he'd build up just for her and saw the darkness underneath, the cold calculating thoughts.

She smiled. "It's alright."

His eyes never left her face. "I just really want to enjoy this festival with you."

_Fake_. Or was it? She didn't care if it was. Maybe it was dangerous to think like that, but as long as she knew that he _could_ be lying, she would be safe, right? As long as she remembered that he did not love her.

Even though she liked to pretend he did.

She blushed, as his words registered in her mind and she couldn't stop herself from being pleased. "Thanks so much for the invitation! I'm sure I would have missed it otherwise – I'll be going back to school in a week and I wasn't thinking about much else." Lie. _I was thinking about you._

She didn't tell him.

_But I don't love you. I don't. I don't. I don't._

~x~

* * *

The carriage came to a slow halt, as they reached the city. Just like the gentleman he claimed to be, Vincent took her hand in his and helped her out of the cabin and onto the street.

She took a deep breath of air as soon as her feet touched the ground. The scent of dirty roads and many people mixed with the one of pastries and sweet alcoholic beverages. Flowers of any colour decorated the windowsills. Garlands swayed in the slight wind while hundreds and hundreds of voices meddled with each other and created something that was like music to her ears. She closed her eyes for a moment as the sun caressed her face. Really, Vincent couldn't have picked a day lovelier than this.

She even convinced him to buy her a small bag with honey-flavoured sweets from one of the market stalls they passed, her hand still in his.

Then Ada started squealing. He winced – because of the sound or perhaps because her strong grip crushed his fingers – while she dragged him along and gesticulated towards a certain dark-coloured tent.

Vincent seemed stupefied, but really, he should have known.

"A fortune-teller! Come on, _come on_, we _have_ to do this – oh, I wonder, will they use cards to predict our future? Or maybe bones? Entrails? They use chicken sometimes, I heard that the results…"

Vincent tried to stop her, but to his greatest annoyance it just wouldn't work. He concentrated on staying calm, on keeping his anger down, while she rambled on and on.

"… read a lot about fortune-telling in the books I have in my room, it's so _interesting_ and it actually…"

"Miss Ada…"

"… I tried it myself, but I must have done something wrong because I ended up with the strangest answers to my questions and they didn't make any sense at all, but I think I'm going to read that chapter in the book again, because I really want to learn…. Oh my, I'm babbling again, aren't I?"

Finally Vincent managed to break free from her grip and proceeded with stepping backwards, out of reach, just in case. "This is nonsense! Anyone claiming to predict the future is nothing more than a tool! We won't be doing this."

Ada actually pouted. "It's just for fun. You don't have to believe what they tell you." Her eyes grew large "Or…are you scared?"

"To be cautious of the future is wise."

They both turned, surprised by the new voice. No one had noticed the dark-clad figure that had appeared behind them, just outside the tent. Never before had Ada seen someone so _old_ and fragile looking: A woman so thin that Ada feared that the mere summer breeze could blow her over.

Ada jumped at the chance. "Are _you_ the fortune-teller?"

The woman nodded gravely, and while Vincent snorted, Ada was delighted.

"Wonderful!" she declared merrily. "I had always wanted to-"

The woman didn't look at her, but instead pinned Vincent with her piercing glare as she interrupted. "No matter how much time has passed, a red-eyed child will _always_ stay a child of misfortune."

Vincent visibly tensed; Ada saw the way his hand snuck into one of his coat pockets, probably the one that hold the scissors rumours whispered about. For a moment he looked ready to murder someone.

And whatever it was that common sense screamed at her, Ada was not frightened.

"He won't make you happy, child," the old woman said softly as her eyes finally left Vincent's face and the sudden ache in her chest told Ada that he might have been right: Talking to the fortune-teller had been a bad idea from the start.

"This relationship is not a healthy one, it will end in a blazing tragedy and lead to the downfall of both of you," The woman offered a sad smile. "You would be best to end it."

Ada opened her mouth to answer – _something, anything_ – when Vincent's fingers harshly closed around her wrist. "Enough."

He sent the woman one last menacing glare before turning around and tugging Ada after him.

And Ada decided not to look back.

~x~

* * *

They didn't talk much after that and only an hour later they gave up.

Back in the carriage Ada let her head fall against the window with a sigh, her eyes following the trees outside until they vanished in the distance.

He wasn't in love with her (was he?) but in her mind, Ada liked to pretend he was. And one look at the scowl still visible on his face and the fact that their hands were still clasped made her wonder that maybe he liked to pretend, too.

~x~

* * *

And little did Ada know that the thing Vincent had clutched so desperately inside his coat pocket was not a pair of scissors but a now rather mangled looking blue feather.

~x~

~x~

_Thank you for reading! :)_


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